Disengaged
by indigosweater
Summary: Since wreaking havoc upon Earth, Loki has been imprisoned in the darkest and most secluded dungeon in all of Asgard, and he is fed up. He resolves to escape, and it will take all the strength he has left to do so. However, Thor's parting words still haunt him.


(A/N: This was my first fanfic attempt so I really do appreciate anyone who reads, and I hope it isn't too unbearable. Of course, all credit goes to Marvel and the creators of these characters.)

* * *

Hidden beneath a cloak of darkness, a tall, slender man arose slowly to his feet amidst a swarm of inanimate bodies. Long, spindly fingers ran through a set of coarse black locks thatl past his shoulders, caressing the shape of his spine and protruding ribcage. Sinewy knees locked into place as he stood tall, his blue eyes searing through the black corridor, gazing at the state of the destruction he had just unleashed. An echo rang in his ears as cool wind swept through the dungeon halls. He breathed it in feverishly, as if it were a drug, savoring the sensation of it filling his heaving lungs. It was a scent most glorious, one that he had not breathed for a very long time. It was the scent of liberation. He was Loki, God of Mischief; and he was finally free.

* * *

Treacherous wasn't an adequate word to use when describing the year that Loki had just endured. Reduced to the status of an animal, of a beast, he had been banished to a cell in the darkest and most secluded dungeon in all of Asgard. Under the ever-watchful eye of the highest surveillance in the land, among which included the eyes of a deity whose name he desired never to speak again, he lay choking in a vacuum full of dry air and a skin-piercing chill. With only a wide window made of some damned mystical substance to look through, he saw but darkness still, save for the occassional brute guard sanctioned there to look after him. His body mass disappeared as he rotted on a daily basis. He'd even spent some occassions refusing to eat, until the hunger, both figurative and literal, overcame him. Suicide seemed the only option that would afford him the freedom he so desired.

But he would not succumb. For in that darkest of moments Loki found some semblance of the entity he had once been, and clung to life. Though his mind was in a state of tortuous confusion, his superior intellect dullened by the metaphorical shackles that impeded his ability to think clearly, he began to remember that great burden which brought him here. He resolved to escape.

He consumed any amount of filth delivered to him through a narrow opening the cell door, sifting through and discarding anything that didn't contain the nutrients to aid his dwindling health. He concentrated his full strength into resuscitating his magical abilities, and remained alert at all times to revitalize his acuity. As he recalled the faces of his captors, foremost of all the idiotic hammer-wielding blonde, madness unrelentingly took hold of his psyche once more, bubbling so close to the surface that it left him stinging, itching with a shifty-eyed thirst for vengeance that felt even stronger than before.

A break soon came to him in the form of a gullible sentinel who hadn't done his homework; it seemed that he and Asgard's finest had forgotten that 'black magic', as mortals called it, wasn't Loki's only specialty. It didn't happen immediately: At first, Loki had only barely overheard the man to a fellow guardsman, chattering something about fresh threats being directed at the kingdom from a hostile realm. In time, he was able to see that the man had harbored several grudges; scattered offhand remarks could be heard passing from his lips on idle afternoons, and through a mixture of sorcery and luck, Loki nurtured this inkling of crookedness in the man's heart into a full-blown hatred, convincing the soldier to conspire with him in his escape in order to evade sentencing, so as long as Loki returned to aid him in his dark pursuits.

_Loki didn't keep promises._

He stood above the fallen knight, along with a few of his friends, after what had been lengthy brawl. It seemed that the blood of Laufey still flowed in him yet.

"Opportunistic rodent is as opportunistic rodent does," he muttered, leaning down to scavenge the body for weapons. The helpless soldier groaned in pain.

Loki's brow raised.

"Still alive?"

The man attempted to reach for Loki's free hand, to which Loki grabbed quick hold of the man's wrist and twisted it in an improper direction.

"Spare it. I'd expected an Asgardian such as yourself to want to go with dignity."

"Aaugh!" the man cried. "It should be you who speaks of dignity. You are but a fugitive, you'll be captive before dawn."

"Will I?" Loki scoffed, barely acknowledging the comment. After a moment of inspection, he felt the handle of a blade forming in the palm of his hand. He took hold of it, and positioned it above his victim's heart.

"I didn't intend to have mercy," the soldier squirmed under Loki's weight, "However, I will try to make this easy for you. You are in close keeping with the Allfather, yes? You will tell me where he keeps the armor and sceptre." The armor and sceptre to which Loki referred was his own.

"I will not tell you," he spat.

"Tell me," Loki breathed, "and I will spare you the blade."

He panted for a few moments. Then, thinking better of his will to protest, the wounded soldier admitted,

"They are in Thor's chambers. He holds onto them for safekeeping."

"What?"

"You will never make it," blood ran from his mouth, "he will kill you for the crimes you have committed."

This news surprised him, as he had expected his possessions to be with Odin, or to have been destroyed entirely. However, he knew he needed to make haste. He looked around him one last time, then down at the man beneath him.

In one swift motion, he lifted the dagger and sank it into the man's heart. Not once, but twice. Blood spurted onto his pale face as he stabbed the chest a third time. The blood in his own veins pulsed throughout his body, rushing to his brain as he watched his victim writhing in agony. Dark hair fell into his face and he relished in this moment, with the taste of death on his lips, too overcome with anger and hatred to care that he had murdered an innocent man, one whom he had wagered to spare.

He wiped his face clean. Quickly, he undressed the body of its armor and robes, throwing the silken garments over his shoulders. Asgardian linens were always the finest, he thought to himself. Then, he fastened the plated helmet upon his head, grabbed one of the staffs that was lying about, and ran to the shadowy entrance gates, relying on his shapeshifting abilities to complete the disguise.

As he sprinted through the hallways, sensing the eyes of other inmates on his back, a few words began chiming in his head. They were those of Thor, in the last conversation that the two had spoken to one another before parting.

_"There are powers at play here, brother, that you cannot control. If darkness comes, where will your allegiances lie? Where will you turn if this kingdom is plunged into war?"_

_"I've learned better than to turn to anyone, least of all you."_

_"Be that as it may, know that if you should betray me, I will kill you. Remember this if nothing else. I loved you, brother."_

_"You are not my brother. And I will never, ever love you."_

None of it mattered now. Time was running out, and the king would soon be informed of his escape, the whole kingdom put into emergency alert. If darkness did indeed come, Loki would be sure to join its ranks. He had had enough of flawless matriarchs and patriarchs, squirming to save the universe with every chance they got. Evil was just far too much fun-he was the God of Mischief, after all.


End file.
